


Want You Bad

by PumpkinPatch



Category: Happy Tree Friends
Genre: Bondage, Captive, F/M, False Memories, Kidnapping, Memory Blank, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, prisoner, tagged as I go, tied to the bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-02 23:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinPatch/pseuds/PumpkinPatch
Summary: Flippy wakes up somewhere with no idea how he got there. . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Despite doing a whole heaping pile of tickle stories that go this route, this isn't a tickle story, not remotely. So don't be disheartened non-tickle fans.
> 
> Instead this is a WIP that might have all it's "chapters" smashed into one thing once it's done or might end on a cliffhanger, or might go any old direction, heh.

When Flippy awoke he did not know where he was. He could not recognize the bedpost his hands were chained to. He shook his arms and made loud rattling sounds he quickly regretted as the reality of being trapped descended upon him like a heavy blanket. His mind tried to shove this reality aside, to kick it into a box and turn its back upon it. It was losing the battle, Flippy was aware. Very aware.

In silence his arms hung slack, hard pulls bringing nothing but pain to his wrists, and as he tried to pull, his arms as well. It was crippling in many ways, and he arched into the cold bite of metal as his eyes swiveled and his heart rate tried to jump. The pulsating organ in his chest thudded and beat at a speed he knew involved adrenaline. His own breathing was uneven. Years off the field had made his training dull, but it was slipping back to him. Like someone remembering how to swear.

His reflexes went in a simple order.

Assess why he was undressed, as his bowie knife was nowhere to be found until he spotted his clothes. Upon a shelf laid both knife and his outfit. The uniform was folded up. He couldn't tell why anyone would do so. His beret sat atop the folded clothing.

Test whatever held him. It jangled and was metallic, had to be chains. Handcuffs or just shackles then. 

Push back and feel the texture of the bedpost. It was grainy, he wasn't tied to a metal one or heavy plastic bedpost, no, just wood. Wood could be splintered, and if this was wood slipped together, he could undo the posts.

Gauge the time of day. No lights were on, but it was bright enough, even with curtains drawn, to tell it was day time. That lead to backtracking. He couldn't recall when he'd lost consciousness, which left him unsure how long he _had been_ unconscious. 

He tried to discern then, was he hungry? Over-rested feeling? He went through it all and found his appetite was mild and this felt like a regular day.

All the while, Flippy looked over every object that could become a weapon. Everything that he could pick up and move. Everything around him. 

It was a simple room, much like any hotel, bar, or house's room. The town didn't do variety as much as others, he knew. He could be anywhere. He reflected on his memories over and over as his chest pounded and his neck got tight with anxiety. Had he flipped out? Had he lost his cool and killed everyone and somehow done this to himself? Flippy could not find the solution in his own memories. He found caution sliding to the wayside as he strained himself to listen. Was that... a voice he heard now?

His ears swiveled in their sockets, turning for the doorway, the only place the voice could be coming from unless people had gathered outside to formulate a search party. Who was it? Flippy's eyes went wide, catching a soft voice, female, sweet-sounding. If not for the situation he was in, he'd smile and lean into such a voice, but instead, he found himself shaking some. Adrenaline and anxiety did not gel well, they were like fire and plastic, a drippy molten mess that could be called a fire, but wasn't really one. His toes curled into the mattress, body trying to brace, bare ass brushing sheets, as did his arms and back. 

A cold sweat tried to run down his back along with a chill, to happily marry fear and the experience of waiting to see who had been behind this caused. He held his breath and hoped in between inhales to start anew, he could make out what they were saying, if it was anything at all. 

It was a mess, and he found himself listening more to the sound than the possibility of words. His drill sergeants would be having a field day with him if they could see him now. Years at war, months in the fields with various soldiers, many of which had died, and he was the 'lucky one', the one who had survived. Tiger General had fallen, never given a name lest he ever be called more than what he was, the enemy. Mouse and Sneaky had died, all for what? So he could lay upon his back and bellyache and fear some unseen female?

Flippy took another breathe and held it. Footsteps sounded out. Coming closer, not going farther, he breathed in, then out through his nose. They were still singing as the metal in the door clicked. The bear debated on faking sleep or being awake and at the ready as the door opened...


	2. Chapter 2

The room is darker than he presumes, or the light from beyond the door is brighter than he expects. Flippy hisses and squints, eyes burning, at the figure. They are a mess of lumpy black shapes ringed by a halo of light before his vision loses the dots and spots dancing before it. Her voice is one he swears he knows, but never has he heard it like this. He cannot find a memory of her until pale fur comes into sight and he realizes he knows her. It's on the tip of his tongue as his pupils dilate in the darkness. Her eyes are half-lidded. She smells of fruit and she moves across the room to his side, the door sliding to a close behind her.

He breathes her in, she's so clean, so soft looking, even as the room stops having excess light, he takes in everything she is and inhales. She's gorgeous, red hued ribbons and bows wrap around her body, as if she is a gift to him, and he can no longer think of faking sleep before her. He's too enticed, a feeling foreign and confusing to him. He's never felt like this before, his body has never felt so tingly like this. It's entirely new.

Flippy has never desired females, he's never had time to even date. He was drafted at a young age and served his time. That was before female soldiers, that was before females on the field. That was a time of stress, of war, of watching his friends die. Romance had no place in Flippy's heart, it was cold, tough, like battered leather. He'd come home and tried to isolate himself, to sever himself from a world he couldn't relate to. He's never seriously dated, what few happened were blank to his memory, or a mess of apologies and mistakes. People have died when around him too long. Women want to fix him, to change him. He's not broken, he's damaged. Dented or bent. There will always be a weak spot within him. An unhealing wound. Salved over.

This is entirely different. It's been years since the war, years since he gave up. He recognizes her and nods his head to her, mouth choking on her name as she presses into him and brings forth an arousal between his legs he's only handled with thick-padded hands and imagination brought to completion with novels and magazines. 

Her voice is softer now, and he remembers. She's been without her lover for a long time, he moved on, got with the other female Flippy's been around a long time now. Then again, he's always been around them all a lot, they linger. But never as she is now. He recalls her eyes, they had been staring at him over a drink. Her lips, her mouth. It comes in a messy jigsaw of pieces, and he can't tell anymore which goes which.

“You and I drank a lot last night.” She speaks, and he finally hears her words as words and not soft humming or seductive touches. The lace of a see through night gown rides up her hips. 

Did he get drunk? He can't remember it. It would explain the taste in his mouth, the sluggish senses. How he feels dazed and not sure where he is. He likely did drink, but did he do it with her? Soft fingers rub along his chest, stirring his groin to attention. She's naked save the night gown. He's staring upon her and taking her in as if this is their first meeting and he has no idea if he is being drawn to her or being pulled into her gaze. 

“I did?”

Her fingers tug a trail between his ribs and down his gut, and then to his pulsating length which she pumps with a grasp that has his teeth gnash together and growl like a feral being instead of resident who does his best for the town. He's wanting this, her pheromones waft around him, she hums and nods.

“Yeah, you tied me up and rode me like a wild animal.” 

Thighs touch thighs. Hips bump hips. Her heat is against him and his is pooling into several inches of raw desire and two very large balls for all she says he rode her, he feels like he could orgasm ten more times before he's drained dry. Flippy licks his lips unconsciously. He nods his head. Who is he to argue when he'd happily do as she said right now if not for the chains.

“You tied me up.”

“Like a wild animal.”

He swallows her, as her tongue passes his lips and his own scrapes her teeth before both press and thrash together. Her slick coats his left thigh fur, he shivers. 

“It's what I am.”


End file.
